


Kephalonia Greece

by SophieD



Series: Backstory on Sophie and Tara [2]
Category: Leverage
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/F, Greece, Italy, Romance, Thief, con artist, grifter - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2014-07-26
Packaged: 2018-02-10 10:58:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2022597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophieD/pseuds/SophieD
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sophie is working a con on a wealthy art collector which takes her from an island in Greece to the southeastern coast of Italy.  Before she can take her treasure and make her escape, she runs into a woman she can't quite get out of her mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kephalonia Greece

**Author's Note:**

> Sophie and Tara have been friends for a very long time but their relationship has never been fully explained. It has been suggested that their relationship may be more than just friendly. This is my version of how they may have met. There is a companion piece to this,Soverato Italy. I recommend reading it first as that is the order they are written in but since they both cover the same events, just with a different point if view, it's not necessary.

Kephalonia Greece. 1997

"My god it's hot in here" I say to no one in particular. I try to fan the perspiration away but it's not any use. There is just not any fresh air to be had in this little room. I pull my pony tail up higher off my neck and try to focus on my work. I am a graduate student from a university in Athens, sent here to help out this little auction house. I am an expert in Ancient Greek art but I dabble in most of the classics. The auction house is new but the owners have big plans. Come to Greece for the sun and fun. Leave with a Van Gogh or a Renoir. Not that they're playing on that level yet but they've attracted the attention of some very important buyers. They’re aiming to put this quiet little town on the island of Kephalonia on the map for the pretty people and the very rich pretty people.

Right now they are dealing in Greek antiquities. Lovely vases and urns made long before any of us were born. Small limestone statues that have managed to avoid the erosion of the rain. Rain. Rain would be lovely right now. Why is it so bloody hot in here? I glance around the room but no one seems to have noticed my little slip of a tantrum. This is good. No one should notice me in my plain navy skirt and suit jacket. It's hot as Hades in here but I don't take my jacket off. There are things hidden under that awful expanse of polyester that people might notice. A pair of thick glasses that constantly slide down my slick nose and the others barely know I am here. They probably don't even remember my name. I'm not sure I remember my name. Three months working in this stuffy little room but the end is in sight.

I have been tracing the provenance of the items up for auction. Some are easy as they are passed down through generations until one of the younger family members decides he would rather have a spot of money rather than a link to his family’s past. Probably so he can snort more powder through his nose. I let loose a little snort of disgust myself. No one notices.

Other artifacts are harder to document. Years where they seem to disappear from sight and re-emerge in someone else's hands in another part of the world. I will document the provenance as best I can. A bit of creative writing here. A fictional marriage there. These are items that will sell high but no one will ever check into them. The fact that they come with papers is enough. They are the expensive little tchotchkes that the pretty people like to put on their mantles and recite their fictional provenance to impress their friends at dinner parties.

Then there are the real items up for auction. They have no provenance at all. They are almost certainly stolen. Stolen from the Greek government, from the Jews by the Nazis and probably several more times since. These are the items that the real rich people are here for. They are the collectors. These items will never make it to the front of the house. Insane amounts of money will handed over in this disgustingly hot little room and the items will disappear. For how long? Well that depends on the security systems that have been installed. The weak systems will most certainly go fast. Not even a challenge for a cat burglar worth his salt. Many won't even try. Leave the simple ones for the amateurs. The others will take longer. A week. A year. It all depends on who is in town and what they like. The buyers think that they are being discreet but in reality a loose network of thieves and grifters are already making their plans to relieve the rich people of their treasures.

This is what I am here for. The special collections. I choose not to compete with the thieves. I don’t need to steal and I don’t need to wait for the items to come back to market. I wouldn’t pay for them anyway. That’s not how I work. How these particular items came to be at this little auction house on an island in the Ionian Sea I have no idea. The owners must have some very important and discreet friends. They will do well in this business. Maybe I will visit them again one day.

My work is done for the day. There is nothing more I can do for today’s auction. I leave without saying goodbye to anyone. They are not my friends. They have already forgotten I was there.

Summer has come to the island and the air outside is just as thick as the in the little room. God I need to get out of here. This island bores me. This mousy little college student bores me. I long to be someone else. I live in a small Spartan apartment on the edge of town. It is furnished with only a small table and a chair. A bed. Nothing more. I don't entertain. I don't want to. This place bores me too. I take off my disgusting jacket and my blouse. I open the window and sprawl across the bed. I will a breeze to come through the window and wash over my body. I fall into a fitful sleep and wake several hours later feeling a bit better about myself. I finish stripping and step into the shower. It is time to shed this boring skin I have been wearing. The college student has served me well but now it is time to become someone new. I will call her Portia. Portia is not boring. Portia is fabulous. Portia speaks perfect Greek with a slight Italian accent. Northern Italian if we want to be specific. I open a chest hiding in the corner and I pull out one of Portia's fabulous dresses. My skin is pasty from so many hours in the stuffy little room but it still carries an olive tint. Yes I could be from Italy. I could be from anywhere.

Like the college student, Portia doesn't need much make up. While the college student wants to blend in, Portia wants to be seen. Grey eye shadow to darken the eyes and bright red lipstick to bring out the lips. No more pony tails. Portia's hair is piled high on her head, its charcoal color is accentuated with bits of sparkling diamond. The glasses are gone and are replaced with a fabulously expensive diamond necklace that hangs low into the bosom. I check the mirror. My my Portia you do look fabulous tonight. Portia is much like the Duchess but more Mediterranean in her look and manner. The Italian Duchess I think to myself. I wonder if there is such a person. I am that person.

I quietly leave the little apartment and slide down to the street below. I can’t afford to be seen. Not yet.

I am meeting an Italian business man. We have been seeing each other. Nothing serious. We both enjoy wine and beautiful things. We share an interest in Ancient Greek works of art and he has invited me to an auction tonight with promises of viewing some special pieces that he aims to buy. He likes to speak to me in Greek in his funny Italian accent. He is very very rich. I start to get that tingle I feel when I am close to completing a job. I want those pieces in my hands. He will buy the ones I want. He is no longer thinking for himself. I have him under complete control. We arrive at the little room in the back of the auction house. It has been cleaned and somehow they managed to remove the smells of human sweat and musty old artifacts. No one recognizes me.

The best pieces of Grecian art are out on view. We walk by and examine each piece of work. I let him know which ones I want with a little squeeze on his arm. It's a manipulation I have used before. I've been working this on him the whole time we've been together. Every time I see that something pleases him, I squeeze his arm. It didn't take long for that little squeeze to mean that what he was experiencing was something that pleased me as well. It works perfectly as he bids on every one of my items. He picks out a few of his own but that's ok. He deserves a little something for all of his hard work for me.

He pays cash for his purchases and arranges to have them delivered to his yacht late into the night. He will have to leave Kephalonia in the wee early hours of the morning if he wants to avoid the prying eyes of customs agents. It would be a very bad thing for all involved if he were to be caught smuggling stolen artwork out of the country.

We go for a walk along the breakwater and hold hands. We buy a bottle of wine and we drink it straight from the bottle. It's crass but he thinks it's funny and it's easier for me to pretend to drink while he consumes most of the bottle himself. I squeeze his arm and mention that I am looking to leave Kephalonia myself. He comes up with the most brilliant idea of his life. Why don't I join him? He's leaving for the coast of Italy in just a few hours and it would be a shame to have to say good bye so quickly. I nod. It really is a brilliant idea. We buy another bottle of wine at an all-night grocery and hurry down to the dock.

The second bottle of wine is gone and I have tucked the Italian into his bed with promises of sweet nothings whispered in his ear. I don't want to sleep. I am still buzzing from the success of the con. Portia really is very good at what she does. And what Portia does is steal. She is a grifter. She cons rich men out of their money and their art. Sometimes they even thank her for her wonderful company as she tucks a priceless painting under her arm and waves goodbye.

By sunrise we are in international waters, headed for the southwestern coast of Italy. When we reach port in Soverato, I will gather my belongings and give him an almost too friendly kiss on the lips. By the end of the day the artifacts will be on a cargo plane headed to my storage locker in London and I will be on a plane to somewhere new. To be someone new.

We sail to Soverato without incident. I am still on the deck enjoying the cool ocean breezes. The Italian brings me a mimosa. Ugh. I wrinkle my nose at the smell. What exactly is wrong with plain old champagne? The only reason to put orange juice in a champagne glass is to hide a crappy wine. I know the Italian does not serve crappy wine. This is just tacky. I suppose money can buy you expensive wine and priceless art and a fabulous boat but it can't buy you class.

The Italian wants to take me to a little wine bar that he's heard about. Hmmm. I do like wine. He wants to show me off to the pretty people in Soverato. I’ve never been to Soverato and it does seem to be a beautiful place. I have heard this is the new playground for the very rich and camera shy. I suppose I can postpone my departure for a day or two. Maybe the Italian will want to buy me something fabulous. I squeeze his arm and tell him "I would be delighted". I've switched to Italian now and he likes the way his language sounds in my sultry voice. I squeeze his arm again and tell him that I need to get some rest. I do but I also want to keep an eye on my treasure. We don't want the boat unloaded just yet. Not until I have made my escape. I'm not too worried. I'm perfectly in control of the Italian and the situation. Mentally I squeeze his arm.

I spend my afternoon lounging around the deck of the boat. Napping. Staring hypnotically into the endless expanse of bright blue water. Watching the pretty people on their pretty boats. Scrubbing away any last bits of the college student.

The day passes quickly and the Italian returns followed by one of his minions and an array of shopping bags with very expensive names on them. "Come darling" he drawls. "Let me show you what I've bought". We go below deck and the minion begins to lay out an assortment of fabulous dresses. I squeeze his arm in appreciation.

I choose a bright red to contrast with my black hair. It is a very good look for me. The dress fits me like a glove and I model it for him. He didn't do this all by himself. He has some very good minions working for him. Maybe I underestimated the Italian. Maybe I should stick around a couple more days. It's not like he's going anywhere. He's obviously not thinking about the treasure. The treasure is not going anywhere either. But what? He is still standing there? Does he has another surprise for me? I beam at him. I do love surprises. Expensive surprises. Not the kind of surprises that come with a ride in the back of a black and white car though. This is a good surprise. The Italian has bought me a very expensive collar with more diamonds than I can count. This deserves more than a squeeze. I give him a kiss. Not a long kiss but long enough to promise that there may be more coming later.

The diamond collar looks fabulous with my bright red dress.

We arrive to the adorable little wine bar late in the evening. The place is already busy. I feel an unusual buzz in the air. It feels…odd. I steer the Italian away from the crowd to a table in the corner. We sit close. I occasionally brush against him. I touch his hands and I laugh at his jokes. He orders me a beautiful glass of wine and I squeeze his arm. He smiles. It is fine wine. He’s done good again.

My back is to the room. I don’t particularly like that. I like to be able to see the people. It’s a grifter thing I suppose. I am constantly reading people. Knowing what they are thinking before they do. I do it almost unconsciously. It’s a skill that has kept me alive and free for a good number of years.

The Italian says something somewhat witty and I duck my head into him again and laugh appropriately. The move is somewhat like a flip of the hair and is calculated to draw his eye back to me. I want to turn and look. There is an electricity to the air that is just a bit off. He makes another joke and I duck and flip again. Maybe this wasn’t such a grand idea, staying over in Soverato. I’m starting to get bored with the man now. I should have collected my belongings and left this morning as I had planned. There will be no more arm squeezing tonight. There is that buzz again. No its more like a hum. Its not an unpleasant feeling. I can’t place it. I want to turn and scan the bar. I put my hand on the Italian’s to distract him and I flip one more time, this time turning in my seat to catch a peek at the room.

I catch a glimpse of a girl. No she’s definitely not a girl. She is a grown up woman. She is golden from head to toe, from her long strands of shining blonde hair to her golden tanned skin. I think she looks much like Artemis would have to an ancient Grecian sculptor. She catches my eye and I blink. She was definitely staring at me but what were her eyes saying? The signals were not at all clear to me. That’s unusual. I don’t normally miss on my reads. Was she admiring the dress and the jewels? Or something else entirely? Or was she sizing me up? Is she a working girl? Is this her place? Well I definitely don’t want any of that. I grab for my wine glass and pretend to turn my attention back to my Italian. In reality I watch the golden woman leave the restaurant and down the street until she disappears in the night with one last flash of gold and moonbeam.

Well, that’s enough for one evening. The Italian orders more wine. And then a bottle to go. Tacky. No arm squeeze for you. He is feeling no pain now and its time for us to leave. I want him to still be somewhat steady on his feet until we get to his car. The driver helps him in and back out again at the dock. I smile seductively at the driver and he helps me lead the Italian to his state room. I whisper things that we might have done into the Italians ear. I give him one last squeeze and tuck him into bed.

The night air is warm and comforting. I grab an extra blanket and settle myself into the most comfortable cot on the deck. I am not ready for sleep. I have things on my mind. I need to leave this place tomorrow post haste. I need to collect my treasures. I need find out who my golden Grecian goddess is.

Sleep comes to me finally in the early hours of the morning. I dream of statues and temples and gods clothed in gold.

The sun wakes me early and I stand to stretch. The Italian is still snoring in his stateroom. Good. No orange juice. I do a bit of yoga and some exercises I learned while working on stage. I go to the galley to find that wonderful champagne and a bite to eat. I wander to the bow and lay my hands on the rail. I look out over the gorgeous water and think that this really is not so bad of a life. Well, not if you like being alone, always having to be someone else, wondering if anyone will recognize the real you though you don’t even know who that is any more. What? Where did that come from? I am on a luxurious yacht bobbing on a sparkling blue sea next to a quaint little Italian village and have a very rich man to buy me whatever I want. And I have my treasure here and many more back home. I have all that I have ever dreamed of. If all of that is true then why am I feeling so melancholy?

I move my head and a flash of gold catches my eye. I turn in time to see a long brown woman with golden hair as she finishes a perfect arc into the ocean. Was that the golden goddess? Was she naked? Why do I feel weak in the knees? I appreciate beauty in all of its forms and I never have been terribly shy myself and the sight of a unclothed woman diving into the ocean makes me feel oddly excited. I really need to get away from this place. I really need to catch a glimpse of the golden goddess again. I stand at the rail for what seems like hours but I never see her surface.

By the time I finally wander back to the cabin, the Italian is up. He is excited. He has wonderful news. He has run into a young rival that he met in Greece. The young man has a new yacht and a new woman. He has invited us to a party to show off both. The Italian’s eyes sparkle as he tells me of his plan to one up the young Greek with a beautiful young woman of his own. He sends me to choose another dress. One that will catch the eye of the young Greek and anyone else who might come to the party. I give my own arm a squeeze. I suppose one more day in Soverato won’t hurt. There will be sun and wine and beautiful people and fabulous jewelry. Mmm. Jewelry. I can think about borrowing some of that jewelry from the pretty people at the party then I will put the Italian to bed again alone and in the morning I will be gone.

The dress I choose is the color of the sea that surrounds us. Black hair looks amazing on red but its not so shabby on a strong blue either. This dress will make the young Greek look my way. Yes this dress will make the Italian happy. I decorate myself with some ice cold rocks and slip into my shoes. The Italian is waiting to escort me to his car.

We arrive fashionably late as the frequently tardy like to say. The wine is being poured and the party is starting. I slip past the hostess and set off to learn the lay of the land, or yacht as it may be, while the Italian goes off to find his young Greek.

I catch a waft of something pleasant as I work my way through the crowd. I am playing the Duchess. I am Portia the Italian Duchess. I don’t have to dodge the crowd. They part in front of me and stand just a tad too close as I glide by, hoping to catch a slip of me, something they can hold on to when they talk of their brush with Royalty. I reach for a wine glass and then I see her. My golden Grecian goddess. I feel as if I’ve been hit by lightning. My Italian is back at my side, parading me around the ring. He says something funny and he laughs and I laugh along though I don’t really know what the joke was. I give his arm another squeeze. Why? I have no idea.

The golden Goddess heard my laugh and turns to see me. Our eyes lock and I suddenly remember her dive into the ocean. I blush and try to break the gaze. Ogling others, especially other women is not something the Duchess would do. I don’t think Portia would either. Then again I have no idea what Portia might do. Portia is somewhat unpredictable I think. Why did I think that?

I need another glass of wine. I leave the Italian back with his friends. They are tittering and taking peaks at the goddess. I get the feeling again that she may be working. What a shame. A body like that could really take a girl somewhere special. Special. I smile to myself. The thought that escapes the confines of my brain is indeed special. And just a wee bit dirty. Shame Portia. Shame.

I take a glass of the wine I like. The expensive one. Not all expensive wine is good and not all good wine is expensive but this one happens to be both. I like it. I like it a lot. Drinking too much wine would be silly and the Duchess is never silly. Portia? I’m not so sure I know her as well as I thought I did. I lean against the bar and think about the golden goddess and the Greek. He certainly has good taste in wine. His women I am not too sure about. Is he paying her to be eye candy or is he paying her for sex. Probably both. He’s a fine looking gentleman and he definitely has plenty of money. I am sure that the goddess is worth her weight in, well in gold. With a body like hers, she should be. I sigh. It really is a shame.

A man comes to sit with me at the bar. He leans just a bit too close tries to get my attention and I sigh again. I am done working. Its been 3 months and now 3 more days and all of a sudden I just want to be somewhere else, someone else. Maybe I will try pinching a painting or two. The last time I tried that things went all sideways. Since then I’ve stayed away from paintings and from Tuscany. I’ve been playing here in the Southern Mediterranean. Trading ribollita and grilled steak for Kreatopita meat pies and stuffed grape leaves and ancient Greek art. Its been a good run but suppose I am done. Its time to go home. Where ever that may be.

The hum starts again. Its not in the air really. More from inside of me. Something brushes against my back and I feel as if I have been shocked. My stomach feels like it has been flipped over inside of me. Its the golden goddess and she wants to talk to me. Thankfully she pushes herself between me and the man and she sticks out her hand.

“Hello. My name is Tara. I hope you are enjoying the view” she says in the worst Italian I think I have ever heard.

I smile at her as she blushes from her toes up to her cheeks. Its not an unflattering look for her. She’s embarrassed. I am feeling generous. I will help her out. I don’t want her to leave. I like her here, standing too close with her hand dangling.

I take her hand and I feel another jolt of electricity run through my body. My stomach flips. Flip flop. Did she do that? Its not an altogether unpleasant feeling. Did she feel it? She’s still trying to put together a few words in Italian and manages to squeak out the word “festa”. I smile again. I answer her in Italian though I know it will be lost on her. I tell her my name is Portia. I babble something about the wine. She doesn’t understand. I want to squeeze her arm. I want to touch her. I want to squeeze her. Portia! Stop! This is not the way the Italian Duchess would think. This is not who I am today. Is it? I feel my cheeks begin to blush at the thoughts swirling in my head.

Tara. Is that her real name? God she is young. And hot. And naïve. And young. And hot. Tara realizes she is still holding my hand runs out the door. I sigh. Dear Portia. This is just not your day. Still the hum hangs in the air. Or was that inside of me? And when she held my hand. That was a wonderful feeling. I unconsciously squeeze my arm. I decide I should go after her. Another squeeze. Another flip flop. Another gulp, no Portia, control yourself, another sip of wine. Squeeze. Good girl Portia. Good girl. The man at the bar tries to talk to me again and I ignore him. I am interested in nothing but Tara, Tara the golden goddess. I wonder what Tara the golden goddess does that brings her to a place like this. Squeeze. No that thought was definitely not ok. Thoughts like that should not be squeezed. I wonder what Tara’s arm would feel like in my hand? Squeeze. Flip flop.

She is not hard to find. She went to the bow of the boat. That’s where I would go. That’s where the ocean breezes would cool my hot cheeks and clear my addled brain. Where there would be less eyes to watch. I’m sure it is difficult for her to find places where people are not watching her. I’ve seen their eyes. The men and the women. They follow her. They follow me too but at least they have the decency to try and hide it. They stare at Tara. They ogle her and they think naughty thoughts. Its no wonder she is playing this dangerous type of skin game. She gives them exactly what they want and they give her exactly what she wants in return. I sigh. It really is a shame. Maybe I can give her a few pointers, help her find a better path. Squeeze her. I mean her arm. I mean…oh I don’t really know what I mean.

I sigh again and step up to the rail next to her. Flip. She really is breathtakingly beautiful and she has taken my breath away. Flop. I wish I had thought of something clever to say. I lean toward her and ask “American?”

She nods.

“Well then we shall talk in English” I say switching smoothly to an aristocratic English with just a touch of an Italian accent, “because your Italian really sucks.”

Smooth Portia. Real smooth. Tara laughs, relieved to be finally let off the hook. I squeeze my arm. I want to squeeze her arm. I mean her. Oh bloody hell I don’t know what I want to squeeze any more.

“It really is a lovely party Tara. And a lovely view.”

She blushes again. I contemplate the view some more. I wonder about the view from the morning. I liked that view too. A lot. No this line of thinking will not do at all. This is not the Duchess. Its not even Portia or the college student or any more of a dozen names I can think of.

I like women of course. You could even say that I love women. I love the way they look and the way that they move. I love the way they are portrayed in expensive paintings and ancient Greek statues. I love them in the way that I love a fine piece of art. But to actually be with a woman? To have sex with a woman? No. I don’t think so. I am not that way. I wouldn’t know how to be that way. What would I do? How would that work? No that’s definitely not me. Or Portia. Or whoever I am supposed to be. I’m not entirely sure who I am any more as my stomach twists itself into warm little knots.

Its not that I don’t have sex. I do. I love to have sex. I never have sex with a mark. That would be prostitution and I am definitely not that way. I wonder if Tara has ever had sex with a woman? Squeeze. No slap. No that’s not any better. My stomach. Why is it suddenly so hot? Why do I feel so hot?

I stay close to Tara the rest of the afternoon and on into the evening. We chat and laugh and dodge the Italian and the Greek. I decide that I really do like Tara and I think she likes me too. Perhaps I will stay in Soverato another day. I can get my treasures as easily tomorrow as I can today. I will help her learn to grift. She really is too good to be working the way that she is. She is a natural grifter. She doesn’t need to prostitute herself. She just needs a little help. I will help her. God would I love to help her. I glance at her. I would love to help her out of that dress. Sigh. Squeeze. Flip flop.

We are ready when the boat pulls up to its mooring. We jump the ship and run toward the beach. The Italian and the Greek are completely forgotten now. We kick off our shoes and walk along the sand. Tara knows of a little restaurant high on the cliffs and we decide to go there.

We order wine. More wine. Tara drinks wine without actually tasting it. I wrinkle my nose a bit at that. Wine should be savored. Like an elegant meal. Like sex. God Portia. Will you let it go? I show her how to sniff the wine. To roll it across her tongue. To at least look like she knows what she’s tasting. She needs more practice. We order more wine. The food here is really good. We enjoy being together. We watch the sunset. I haven’t felt this light in years. Too much wine I suspect. And a really nice view.

I need a place to go and sober up and catch a nap before I return to the Italian’s yacht to retrieve my treasures. The obvious, no, the only real option is sitting here in front of me. I grin at the thought of the two of us sleeping under the same roof. Tara reads my mind and she is flustered. She reaches for her wine glass. I catch her hand. No Tara. Not like that. Don’t gulp. Slow. Very slow. The feel of her hand is making my stomach do that flip flop thing again and my knees are beginning to wobble. I need to ask her for a bed or a couch for the night but I need to make a few things clear to her first.

Clear. That’s a laugh. I haven’t been clear about anything since I first caught a glimpse of her in gold and moonlight. I want to tell her. Tell her what? That I want to sleep over? Yes that’s exactly what I want to do. I want to sleep naked next to her in a warm room on top of the covers. No Portia. No.

Tara shivers. Did she read me? Oh God I hope… I hope not?

Maybe she’s cold. Maybe I should hold her. She tries to pull her hand away but I don’t let her.

“Tara I..umm”.

Wow. This is harder than I thought it was going to be. Her eyes brighten just a bit. Damn. She read me. I need to do this now while I still have some control over my feelings. I take a big gulp of my wine. She pulls her hand back across the table. That’s not what I wanted at all.

“Tara we need to talk”. I steady myself for another go.

"Tara I'm not... um...I mean I've never...I don't know..."

I see her slip just a bit. She looks disappointed. She moves across to my side of the table. Why? This is not going to make things any easier. Another slip and I see something new in her eye. She wants me to stay. To stay with her. She wants me to be with her. God wouldn’t that be a lark. No. No it would not. Just once. Just one time. Haven’t you always been curious? No. Another experience to add to the sum that will be the total of your life? No. Duchess or Portia or whoever you are. No. Remember who you are. Remember why you are here? Remember who she is. Oh I will remember her. Damn.

Maybe if I say it really fast I will get it all out. .

"Tara I'm not a lesbian."

There. I did it. Cue the awkward pause. I backtrack, trying to cover her hurt feelings.

"I mean I like you and there's nothing wrong with that and you certainly are beautiful enough but I've never been that way.”

She doesn’t move. There is nothing in her eyes that I can read. Oh my god did she just move closer? I feel as though the millimeters between us have been ignited with scorching lava. She reaches for my hand and I realize that I am still holding on to my own wine glass.

“Its ok darling" she breathes into my ear "I'm not a lesbian either. I just want to know you better. I want to touch you and hold you. I promise I will never do anything that makes you uncomfortable. You will have all the control in the world.”

Control. Like hell I have any control of self or otherwise. Her proximity. Her smell. Her touch. They are all making me seriously reconsider my position. God. Position? Really Portia? You had to go there? I sigh.

Wine. I need more wine. She stops my glass mid-air. She’s right. Wine is not going to help me out of this. I need to do this sober. I need to kiss her. No I need to leave. Damn it I don’t know what I need.

Yes Portia. You do know what you need. You’re just not ready to admit it yet. Tara moves again. Just a fraction of an inch but I feel it as though she has run into me full tilt. She puts her hand on my shoulder. I startle. Her touch is so warm and comforting. Now it is sizzling hot. I feel as though I am being burned from the inside out. I shudder under her touch and she pulls me even closer.

  
I can’t look at Tara. I don’t need to. I can read lust in her eyes and I don’t want to see that. She’s not even trying to hide it. We are so close now. I can feel her breath as it brushes across my face. It’s now or never Portia. Go or stay. Flight or fight. To kiss or not to kiss. That is the question. My eyesight blurs and I wobble in my chair. I blink hard and try to maintain my balance. This was never really was a fair fight. I knew what I wanted from the moment I saw her long golden body slice into the blue sea water.

I turn my face toward her and her lips brush with mine. My God. How had I not noticed her lips? She kisses me. I need to squeeze something. My hand falls to her thigh. That will work. I shall squeeze that. I sink deeper into the kiss. Soverato and Kephalonia and the Greek and the Italian and the college student and the treasure all disappear. There is nothing in the world besides me and Tara and this restaurant and this moment and this kiss. Bloody Hell Portia. Bloody Hell Tara. Just plain old Bloody Hell!

The electricity in the room changes. People are looking. Am I self-conscious being here with Tara? It’s not like I’ve never snogged in public before. Is it because I am with a woman? If it is, then I need to seriously re-think my position. I like my new position. I like it a lot. My fingers tighten on Tara’s thigh. Squeeze squeeze squeeze.

Tara must have felt my moment of doubt and she moves away. She whispers in my ear about her apartment nearby. Mmmm…That does sound like a good idea. Isn’t this what this little game was about? She rises and I start to follow her lead. Damn. I don’t have any money with me. I didn’t think this thing through. Portia, you haven’t thought anything through since you arrived in this bloody town. Tara surprises me again. She pulls some bills from somewhere, I can’t imagine where and lays them on the table. Maybe I should pat her down and see what other surprises I might find. Lord Portia. Tara I owe you one. I don’t imagine it will be the last debt to Tara I will have to repay.

The cool Italian night air feels good on my hot skin. Walking close to Tara feels good too. She reaches to wrap a golden arm around my waist and the bolt of electricity that plays across my skin makes me shiver. She pulls me even tighter. Sigh. She is walking too fast. Her Iegs are so much longer than mine. Long golden legs. I need to slow down and think. There that’s a good thought Portia. Lets stop and think this through. Squeeze. I bet those long golden legs could give a good squeeze. I sigh. I wonder what Tara is thinking?

She leads me to a non-descript little apartment not too far from the piazza in the center of town. She has to dig for her key. My my there are more surprises in that dress to be found.. She finally works the door open and I peek in. Hmm. This is certainly not the way I would have decorated it. I wrinkle my nose a bit. Really there is no decoration at all unless you count a few discarded articles of clothing and towels. This is not a home for her. She has no intention of staying here. She will move on as soon as the well runs dry. I wonder if I will still be around when that happens. Probably not.

She looks mortified at the state of the room and I tell her that I do the same and she seems comforted by the lie. Now all that’s left is for me to go through the door. Now or never. Fight or flight. I wobble and bump her in the back. She takes this as impatience and moves me through the door. She starts waving her arm and babbling about tea. I shake my head no. I don’t need tea. I could use some wine I suppose but that’s probably not a good idea at this junction either. Junction. That’s an interesting word. Doesn’t that mean connection?

Tara slowly reaches out and makes a connection. She pulls me close and I let her. Now or never. Fight or flight. Oh god I want this more than I’ve ever wanting anything in my life.

She mumbles something into my ear about dancing. I nod. I would agree to just about anything right now. Anything to stay here in her arms one more second. We begin to sway to a rhythm that I don’t recognize. Slowly Tara’s hands slide from my shoulders, down my ribs and come to rest low on my hips. A warm feeling starts to spread from my toes, and comes to rest in my middle. It feels good. Tara feels good. My beautiful golden Greek goddess.

My vision is blurry but I can still read the question in her eyes. Yes Tara. My God yes! Her lips curve into the tiniest bit of a smile and her eyes change. They are no longer questioning. They are bright and the moonlight flowing through the window makes them glow. I want to remember this moment for the rest of my life. I close my eyes and commit it to my memory. Tara moves just a bit and I panic and hold on even tighter. I press myself into her. I want to be with her. I want to be one with her.

I’m not sure if it was seconds or hours, the two of just standing in a little apartment on the edge of the piazza in a little town in Italy. There was nowhere, no one else in the world. I didn’t want that moment to ever end.

Tara starts to move and I sigh to myself. She wants more from me. My being here, my body against hers is like a promise. It is definitely a promise I want to keep. She slowly reaches around me and starts to pull the the zipper on my dress.

“No”.

She stops. I remember the feeling of her body tight to mine and the moment of panic passes. I cover with “let me”.

Now or never. Flight or fight. Now I answer silently. Now. I reach slowly behind me and pull the zipper, letting my dress fall to the floor. I’ve done this before. I know how I look. I know this move will make a man, or I suppose a woman, weak in the knees. Tara’s eyes dilate and I try to read them. They slide downward. A flick of surprise as they travel low and then her eyes are easy to read. Lust. This makes me happy and I nod. Yes Love, tonight this is for you.

She is impatient with me now, with my purposeful lingering to hold on to the moment forever. She reaches for her own dress and again I tell her again “let me.” I slowly move around her, unwilling to let go of any sort of physical contact. My hand drags across her. It seems to be held to her by some sort of magnetic force. I slowly pull the zipper of her dress. I want this moment to last forever too, my first real look at my golden goddess. The dress falls slowly and I let my fingers follow it down her back. The dress finally reaches the floor and I slide back around to her front. The glimpse of Tara in the ocean, the sight of her in a tight dress, my imagination. Nothing compares to the beauty I see in front of me. She is long. Long hair. Long legs. Long lean muscles. She is golden tan from her head to her… To her…I startle. What the hell? She is wearing the teeniest little pink panties I have ever seen. Goodness we do have a lot of work to do here. I smile in spite of myself. Tara senses my thoughts and looks mortified. I try to break the moment. “Get those silly things off!” I order her. The panties come off in an instant. Better. Much better. I should squeeze you for that.

She reaches for my hands and I give them willingly. She moves very close again and we begin to kiss. She is trying to be gentle. She is trying to move slowly. She is afraid that I am still unsure, that I may change my mind, that she might be leading me into something I will regret. I have made my decision though it really wasn’t my decision to make. We both have been traveling on a line that would bring us to this moment. We never really had a choice. I want to stop thinking so I press my lips harder into hers, my tongue begins to wander. She moans just ever so slightly. Oh how I want to squeeze her until we are both exhausted and satisfied. She begins to walk me slowly toward the bed. The warm glow in my belly has turned to a raging forest fire. I feel as if the fire will consume me until I explodes into a million burning stars.

A step and I follow, unwilling to let her move away from me. A step and I move into her. A step and I push myself harder against her body. A step and suddenly I find myself tumbling towards her, pulled down by her hands and gravity as she falls backward onto the bed. I can’t help but laugh. The seductress. The golden goddess. The silly young girl who is so eager to impress me with her worldly ways. She is flopped across the bed and I am sprawled on top of her. What a sight we must be. I laugh again.

“So this is how it is done” I say jokingly.

She laughs too. The spell we have been under is broken. We are no longer two bodies streaking toward an inevitable firy end. No we are just two women who have discovered a deep affection and desire for each other. She rolls me off of her and slides up beside me.

Tara looks to read my eyes and I nod. Now. Now I am ready. Now I am sure. She gently rolls on top of me. A low sound escapes me from deep inside. She likes that. Her hard body feels so good cradled in mine. I like that. Her legs are draped over my leg, one on the bed and the other resting gently in the space between mine. I like that too. I gently pull mine together and give her the slightest of a squeeze. She doesn’t need this to know I am pleased. Slowly we begin to kiss. There is no insistence this time, no persuasion, no game. We are lovers and we are sharing a kiss that will connect us for a lifetime.

Too soon she rolls back onto her side. Her pupils are large and her breathing is shallow. She gently takes my hand. She places it on top of herself and starts to move. I let her guide me to all of the places she likes. Her eyes are locked with mine. I look deep into hers. I get it now. I begin to move of my own accord. I can tell she likes it. She likes it a lot.

I move faster and she begins to breathe deeper, her cheeks are flushed, her eyes begin to lose focus. She is close and I want to take her there. I want to feel her pleasure. Let her body move involuntarily into mine. So close. I move my hand again down between her legs and I can feel her tremble. She gently puts her hand back on mine and her eyes become clearer.

She moves to lay her hand onto me. Bolts of lightning fly from her fingers and burn deep inside me. She moves her hand across my body to all of the places she just showed me. It moves around my breasts and traces my rib cage down to the soft flesh of my belly. It strokes my hair and slides deep between my legs. She begins to rub. She teases me moving her hand up and down, side to side.

She pulls away and lets her fingers wander then slowly slides them back. My body begins to twitch. I try to be still but I am no longer in control. Faster now. Faster. Harder. My hand moves against her mimicking the moves she makes against me. We begin to move together in a perfect rhythm. I stare into her eyes. They are wide and her pupils cover nearly all of the blue in her irises. My vision goes fuzzy. One more time. Just one more time. Suddenly she tenses and pulls me hard into her. I respond by grabbing back at her and the world around me explodes. Slowly my muscles come back under my own control and all I can do is whisper,

“Bloody Hell Tara. Bloody Hell.”

We spent the night wrapped in each other. We held each other tight and stroked each other and touched the places that set our skin on fire. The sun came up and rose high into the sky and still we did not want to let each other go.

The night and the day have slipped away from us. With possible starvation setting in, we untangle ourselves from the bedclothes and from each other. I draw myself a bath and Tara offers to go find some food. It’s a darn shame that the tub in the apartment is not large enough for two. Tara returns as I dry myself and search for something that might fit me. She’s brought wine and bread. Good. I check the wine and my nose wrinkles. Not good. Dear Tara. We must do something about your taste in wine. She glances sideways at me and a wicked grin spreads across her face. I shrug. She will share with me later.

The wine tastes awful but I drink it anyway. I don’t often let myself get tipsy but tonight it feels good. Tara and I are as one now. We stumble to the bed and curl up together. Tonight is different. We talk and touch and just be together late into the night. Finally in the early morning, I drift off into a contented sleep. The hot stuffy little room, the treasure, the Italian. None of it means anything to me anymore. Tara is important and I am important and the little apartment is important and that is all I need.

Tara and I spent the rest of the summer together. We hold each other tight every night and spend our days together. Every morning Tara drags me down to the sea and we swim. We wander the village during the day and practice our tricks on the pretty people. We eat fine food and drink wine and I teach Tara about vintage and bouquet and how to taste as the wine washes over her tongue. I teach her to be a real grifter and the tricks she can use to manipulate her marks without using her body. I teach her the joys and rewards of the long game. I teach her to manipulate and read and to feel a room. I teach her to lift and we fund our indulgent life style with wallets we relieve from the rich and pretty people. I teach her about class and style. I teach her how to mimic accents and how to shed her skin and become someone new. Tara is an excellent student. I don’t need to squeeze her arms. She knows how to please me already. And in return I know how to please her.

We spend hours in seaside cafes talking about our childhoods and families. Tara’s life in Paducah Kentucky and my, well Portia’s childhood. I don’t know why I can’t be the person I should be with Tara. I wonder if that person even exists. I hold onto Portia because I don’t know who else to be. The guilt eats at me and I dread the idea that I might someday have to tell her the truth.

I am relieved to learn that Tara is not a prostitute as I had suspected. She did sleep with her marks, when she chose to but only because she chose to. There were not many. She had not slept with the Greek. I tell her that she plays a dangerous game and she needs to stop but I marvel at her skill at manipulating a man into thinking he slept with her when he did not . She truly will be a fabulous grifter someday. I hope that I will know her then.

We have had a wonderful summer but the summer is over and it is time for me to move on. It breaks my heart to leave Tara, my beautiful golden goddess but I need to go back to my life. I never could stay in one place or be any one person for too long. Not in Soverato. Not at the little apartment. Not with Tara. This is my life. It is a lonely and sometimes heartbreaking life but it is the one I have chosen and I am way too far down this road of my own making to turn back.

I slip away in the middle of the night, leaving Tara with a gentle kiss and a summers worth of memories. I hope it will be enough for her. I hope it will be enough for me.

I didn’t see Tara again for several years. She was angry when we met again. She had every right to be angry. She called me Portia but that hadn’t been my name in a very long time.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and constructive feedback are more than welcome.


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